


Keeping Me in the Dark

by BitchHips



Series: Hellsing Ultimate Abridged x Vento Aureo Omnibus [1]
Category: Hellsing Ultimate Abridged
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitchHips/pseuds/BitchHips
Summary: TL;DR Sarcastic, horndog, lethal Alucard helps a nymphomaniac figure some shit out. Deals with childhood sexual abuse and coping mechanisms so that survivors like us don't go the way of "The Father Who Must Be Killed" by Morrissey.(about 8 chapters)In the immortal words of Dan Savage:  "...It's not an uncommon response: sometimes our subconscious mind takes the lemons of our sexual insecurities and turns them into delicious bonerade."How did the OC from the next two works in this omnibus become the horndog she is? Trauma. Trauma that she owned and twisted around into a manageable hypersexual disorder that is a hell of a lot more fun than many of the alternatives.Thanks for reading. This is my attempt at following the advice of Dr. Pennebaker’s book Writing to Heal: A Guided Journal for Recovering from Trauma & Emotional Upheaval.Read the tags. If this is uncomfortable for you to read, please stop. Take care of yourself! I am trying to process my sexual trauma by exploring my sexual identity and fantasy world. I don’t want to hurt you in an effort to heal myself. I am trying to find my tribe so we can heal together, overcome and thrive.
Series: Hellsing Ultimate Abridged x Vento Aureo Omnibus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782505
Kudos: 3





	1. Evolution of a High Functioning Hypersexual [trigger warning - see notes]

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: there is a significant portion of this that deals with childhood sexual abuse and its aftermath. It is necessary to the larger story for you to understand Isadora’s motivations, but if you need to skip for your head and heart, please skip to chapter 2. (If you need someone to talk to about childhood sexual abuse - I am here as a fellow survivor).
> 
> LeBon is, and has always been, my love language. I was listening to an 80s/90s mix on repeat while writing, sorry if some particularly purple prose seeped in. Actually, not sorry. It’s almost like a word search puzzle for New Wave and Alternative fans - "Can you find the 80’s lyric bits"?
> 
> This is the most autobiographical thing I have ever written. Pity I didn’t have an Alucard to help straighten my head out – but luckily the lovers (BDSM and vanilla) I did take in college did the trick. Many thanks to the yuppie couple off of Knollton Road. Your spankings, collars, and aftercare most likely saved my life.

The dark-haired American lays on the half wall that separated the vast, manicured lawn from the walkway in the dimming light of dusk. Watching strangers drift between the Fine Arts Building and the Chemistry Building, she surrenders to the voices in her head. They gather with the light breeze, talking, chanting, breathing into her body.

Brows knitted, she could no longer keep it together and now she bitterly regretted being a foreign exchange student an ocean away from her sisters. She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked again at the group chat.

**ISADORA**

_Good EARLY morning! What’s up? You didn’t reply to my texts last night! :(_

_11:44am Tuesday_

_How’s school?_

_Hello?_

_4:22pm Wednesday_

**MORGAN**

_Sorry._

_In class._

_8:30pm Wednesday_

**ISADORA**

_Is everything OK?_

_8:30pm Wednesday_

_Hello?_

_11:23pm Wednesday_

**MORGAN**

_Yeah._

_4:31pm Thursday_

_When are you coming home?_

_4:33pm Thursday_

**ISADORA**

_I am coming home for Christmas break - in about 8 weeks._

_4:34pm Thursday_

**ASHLEY**

_What about Thanksgiving?_

_4:41pm Thursday_

**ISADORA**

_They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in England. What’s wrong?_

_4:41pm Thursday_

_Hello? One of you please text me when you get done with school._

_4:58pm Thursday_

The sparse replies weren’t like them. Where were the emojis, the memes, selfies? Up to this point, she had managed. She muddled through. After years of sexual abuse at the hands of her step-father, she was free. The episodes had been tapering off more and more as she progressed through high school. Up to this point, she had optimistically attributed it to him drinking less, finding religion or maybe her codependent mom might have actually spoken to him about it.

She stayed years longer than she should have but she couldn’t leave her younger sisters to the threat of his disgusting, drunken nighttime forays.

Every night before going to bed she made sure her sisters’ bedroom doors were closed, then left her door slightly ajar to better hear noises of the house and to make her the more easily accessed, already sullied sacrifice.

Countless hours of sleep were lost, listening for clumsy footsteps in the night, in the hallway. Straining, to make sure she didn’t hear doors open into pastel bedrooms with Barbies, boy band posters and innocence intact. The footsteps thudded by, towards the kitchen, past those doorways, yielding dreamless, fitful sleep until the next sound bloomed in the darkness.

Upon graduation she convinced herself that he was done with this behavior and though reticent, was happy to go off to college hours from home. Things seemed fine that first year, so when she was nominated to join a prestigious program at a university in London for her sophomore year, she accepted.

It was times like this, though, after the text messages seemed a bit too curt, when the familiar anxiety, fueled by powerlessness and shame, would bubble up to the surface from her subconscious. It was an old pushy friend, demanding new favors for old times’ sake.

She had to drown the voices, the feelings, before they overcame her and to do that she had one failsafe coping mechanism – further desecration.

…

When he first appeared in her bedroom door when she was twelve, he stood there with haunted, hollowed eyes, while the rest of the house slept. A deer in the woods, she was frozen in fear and pretended she was asleep until he shuffled away.

Isadora told her mother about it the next day. Her mother’s response – angry and accusatory – shocked her. How dare she try to take this away from them? Isadora was being selfish. She was wrong about his intentions. At that time, Isadora naively didn’t even _understand_ what her mother meant by that.

Soon she found out though. She’d wake up to large, sweaty hands touching her under her pajamas. She opted to freeze once again and keep her eyes tightly closed, wishing he would stop or that she would at least fall back to sleep, but neither ever happened.

He took one sexual milestone after another – first base, second, and third. Home run hurt. Acts that had names that she had never known, were also carried out– and cataloged in her head.

Without the support of her mother, her days felt anchorless. She watched classmates and family from outside her body – how could they live their lives with this happening to her? How do they not NOTICE how different she felt. Did they not know her? She waited for someone, anyone, to ask her how she was doing. If they did, she would tell them. She would ask everyone ‘How are YOU?’ but after they answered ‘fine’ she never had the question reciprocated. She began to inwardly collapse upon herself. Crowds just made her feel lonely. Acquaintances smile, but there’s no understanding.

Months dragged on before someone finally noticed a difference. The boys at school. They wanted the same thing he wanted…and without a thought or a care, she gave it to them. It was easier this way. She found that when she let them she could overrun the memories of firsts with MORE memories. The frequency and increasing depravity of these new memories dulled the traumatic ones. They gave her back her agency.

At 15 years old, she read something Oscar Wilde said that was revelatory - “Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.”

By then his visits had almost entirely stopped, but her heart and soul had already twisted to accommodate the reality she had survived. In her isolation, she had vowed not to let that asshole claim or taint her sexuality – but it had. The abuse had set her baseline as “normal”. Even after the abuse stopped, the normal courtship behaviors of a teen seemed to be ABNORMAL.

Sexual release to the point of oblivion had morphed into her cure, but also her addiction. She was smart and careful, but whenever anxiety appeared, especially if the traumatic memories threatened to surface in her subconscious, she became nearly feral in her pursuit to bury it again.

Gone were the childish notions that she was saving herself for some Disney prince in shining armor. She would save herself somehow. She experimented; there were few things in the lexicon of sexual expression that she hadn’t tried at least once. By the time she went to college, the overt power dynamics of BDSM had become her favorite method of silencing the unwanted voices and memories. She sought out imbalance of power to make her feel like things are normal again. She knew it was fucked up – but she knew it was a comfort, that she chose. Hands bound; head down; eyes closed; throat wide open - theater of a scene was the only place she could feel a healing calm.


	2. Hair of the Dog 🍋

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OC Fem x Alucard and other BDSM club stuff (no vampire stuff just yet)

Despite her mental fight to breathe it back, thick, unyielding waves of regret and anger continued to wash over her, magnifying. The text said nothing definitive – but it said NOTHING DEFINITIVE. Why were the pauses so long? There had to be something wrong. She had called at least eight times by then; no calls back. No FaceTime requests. 

Isadora rolled off the wall and numbly walked back to her dorm, the anxiety soaked even her bones.

She choked through pleasantries when she saw friendly faces in the hallway. In her room, a note from her roommate, Sarah – she was at the library and would be there until late.

Sitting on her bed, she opened her laptop. She didn’t want to be with any people she knew, but god knows she didn’t want to be alone. Fingers moving on their own, a search for BDSM clubs in the area yielded promise; there was one in the warehouse district a couple of miles away from campus. Her body was desperate for something new, to cut the moorings, to give her peace .

Staticky frustration buzzed in her head, drowning out rationality and reasonable fears of the unknown; it even drowned out concern for her sisters and left only Her Need. In a robotic daze she put on a matching set of black satin panties and bra, a garter belt with seamed stockings, a wrap dress and black pumps. Her dark hair pulled into a high pony swung behind her as she exited the building, into the warm night air. She gave one last glance behind her, dead eyes then drifting away from the part she played at school, and towards the train station.

…

She double-checked the directions on her phone and tentatively ducked into an alley where the entrance to the club, ‘Hotel Nacional’, was allegedly located. A pierced and tatted bouncer, looking exactly as one would expect, was leaning against a wall, regarding her coolly.

“Evenin’, love. Are you lost?”

“I’m looking for the Hotel Nacional.”

He smiled unexpectedly, winked, and opened the door, grandly gesturing for her to enter.

The heady smell of sex assaulted her nose full force inside, which made the fuzzy static of her thoughts and feelings crackle even more insistently with their united, unrelenting need. 

There was a concierge desk inside, just like you would find at a nice hotel. The Bettie Page lookalike clerk motioned for her to go to one of three computer kiosks – terms and conditions, fill in emergency contact information, health risks, beverage preferences, a liability waiver, a kink compatibility questionnaire and aftercare requirements. On the final screen, a QR code displayed - to download the club’s phone app for partner matching and directions on where to leave any belongings not needed inside.

The coat room service relieved her of her wrap dress and purse. She took a deep breath to center herself. Her long legs strode down a short hallway, painted black and she put her game face on. 

Stepping into the main room, she could see a dimly-lit bar with people of all descriptions. There was a big, dark, leather daddy manhandling two otters in one corner; dominatrices scolding their leashed subs at a high top table; and a scattered assortment of couples exchanging glances, drinks, blows and body fluids. She smiled, self-satisfied. and made a mental note that she would definitely be coming here again in the future.

Seeing nothing that immediately piqued her interest, she spotted a door in the back that held promise. She confidently strolled over in her black pumps when she was stopped at the door by a completely hairless man, wearing a red lacy garter belt with seamed stockings, a cropped athletic jersey, a red jockstrap, and matching shiny red patent boots. He smelled like cocoa butter and had slickly defined muscles on every bit that she could see.

“Pardon, love, but in order to enter the private area, you must be accompanied by an established member of our club.”

“Hi! Love the boots!” she gushed. “My name is Isadora… just got here from America. I am an exchange student. Nice to meet you.”

He nodded once, face impassive.

She continued, “How _does_ one become a member of the club?”

“…by recommendation of an established member of our club.”

“How can I _meet_ one of those if they are all _in there_ and I am _out here_?” she pouted in a sing-song voice, trying to sound cute while still arguing her point.

“Not my problem, love. I just enforce the rules,” he replied, arching his non-existent eyebrows.

Before she could finish an exasperated sigh, she was startled by a booming voice rumbling very close behind her.

“She’s my guest, Archie. We’re going inside.”

She spun around, her ponytail whipping into a solid surface behind her. Inches in front of her nose was a massive chest, decorated with a crisp white dress shirt and the loose ends of a red, ornately knotted tie. She tilted her chin upwards to see an absolutely gigantic, pale man with wild dark hair looking down at her through round-lensed, orange sunglasses. He was dressed in dark red, in some sort of Victorian gentleman costume and had a wide, manic smile.

Without another word, he grabbed her hand and placed it on his arm. Archie stepped aside immediately and he guided her down a dark, narrow corridor.

“Thank you,” she smiled furtively. “May I return the favor and buy you a drink?”

“Yes, you can return the favor. No drinks for me just yet though,” he grinned back. “Let me give you the grand tour of the dungeon and garden.”

The corridor opened to a dungeon room. He pointed out the D-rings bolted to cinder block walls at various heights to attach all sorts of hardware. Some of them were currently in use; a small, intense woman with waist-length, multicolored locs wearing an open kimono and matching purple thigh-high boots lazily whipped a pasty-skinned, gagged, middle-aged man in boxers and nipple clamps. The giant waved to the dominatrix who did a double-take and nodded hello before delivering another crack of the whip.

“The rest of the members are probably in the garden out back. That’s where they feature new talent,” he murmured close to her ear. Still scanning the room, she nodded absentmindedly as she allowed him to lead her onward. She noticed two sturdy sex slings sat idle in the far corner.

They passed a selection of paddles and whips in a wall case; a basket of condoms; and an industrial-sized container of lube before coming to a glowing, glass-beaded curtain which was illuminated by the lights beyond. He stood aside and parted the curtain for her and she deliberately made a show of counting out three condoms and tucking it into her bra before proceeding inside.

The first thing she noticed was a centrally positioned stage in the high-walled garden area. On it, there was a large, x-shaped, wooden frame, at least 8 feet tall. To that frame was a young man, securely strapped and blindfolded, waiting for…something. He looked athletic in his tidy whiteys, pale, muscular thighs flexing (god, she loved meaty thighs), and was probably close to Isadora’s age. He was crucified - arms out to the sides in a T-pose and feet shackled together below. There was also a large projection screen behind him displaying psychedelic images that moved in time to the music. Offstage there were chaise lounges with oversized pillows set up around in an arc arrangement as well as a few tables. The giant motioned for her to sit on an unoccupied chaise near the front and he sat down at the chaise next to her.

“I’m Isadora,” she offered and put out her hand to shake. “Thanks again for getting me back here, although I am not sure if they have what I am looking for.”

“What ARE you looking for?” he said, taking her hand to his lips to kiss it. 

Annoyed by his forwardness and the fact that he didn’t offer his name, she removed her hand from his grip but continued, “just a quick fix, really. Not an elaborate scene. I just have a lot on my mind and I need to take a vacation from my thoughts for a bit.”

A woman in head to toe black patent leather strode confidently by them. She paused, canting her hip to smile at the giant, who nodded as a small, respectful bow. In her hand she held a cordless Violet Wand, which hummed and crackled in one hand as she continued to move closer to the stage, her long, blond ponytail swinging behind her.

The giant turned to her, “So you need to be fucked out of your brains. Easy enough here. Give the show a few minutes before you make up your mind one way or the other. I think I see empty slots on the stage list – maybe it’s just what you’re missing. “

Isadora casually flopped down belly first on a chaise lounge, chin propped up on her elbows and watched the show unfold. Both she and Alucard look to their phones.

“Ah, there you are. Let’s see…85% switch…85% experimentalist… 80% exhibitionist…rope bunny, submissive brat or pet, role play, orgasm control… It would seem we are a potential match,” he leered with a smile, his eyes not leaving his screen.

Isadora scanned the app, trying to navigate where he was seeing this and looking for his profile. Her attention was interrupted though when the mistress marched up the steps. She stomped dramatically twice and bowed to her left and right to mild applause. The claps and conversation died down and once she was sure she had their attention, she turned to face the bound man.

She glided close to him and whispered something in his ear, blond ponytail bobbing as she spoke to him. They had a conversation that lasted about a minute which culminated with her holding up the toy to his face. She grabbed his hair and ear with her other hand roughly tilting his head and loudly ordered him to kiss it. Sparks jumped and zapped him in the face. He winced but did as he was told.

She turned back to their audience. “His safe word is ‘Atlantic’; if any of you hear him saying it, please get my attention, as sometimes I get caught up in the excitement,” she grinned as the crowd tittered.

She made a big show of leisurely guiding the wand over the bound man’s body, starting at his left hand. A tiny bolt shot from the Wand and tagged him on the wrist. He winced again. The audience gasped and murmured as she continued. Isadora could see that he was enjoying himself as his tidy whiteys tented and his face and chest flushed.

The woman continued to glide the Wand near the surface of the skin, moving toward his chest. Isadora squirmed a bit, knowing from personal experience how badly this was going to sting but at the same time she could feel her body responding to the scene, reminding her of why she was here. Unconsciously she rocked her hips slowly into the chair, feeling the sensation build inside.

A larger spark jumped to the man’s nipple and he involuntarily grunted, jerking from the sensation. He had an impressive erection that the dominatrix would slap and forcefully squeeze through his underwear. After teasing him with shocks to his neck, armpit, thighs and knees, she pulled his cock out of the underwear through the fly. The entire room could tell from yards away that it was absolutely rock hard. The pre-cum glistened from the stage lights.

That’s when her escort made his move.

Isadora had been waiting for this to happen; it was inevitable. She thought up at least three ways how she was going to manage to tell the man to fuck off in the most polite way possible should things turn sour.

He sat down on the edge of her chaise next to her hip and began to trace patterns on her back with his gloved finger.

“Soooooo, what do you think of the show so far?” he said in a singsong voice near her ear.

“It’s much better than being at the dorms right now.”

“Should we look into reserving you a spot?”

“Let’s just see how this scene ends first. Is she the only domme?” said Isadora over her shoulder, eyes still on the scene.

“No, but I am sure she’d be willing to help you out if you begged nicely,” he grinned, removing his gloves with his teeth. He set the gloves near Isadora’s arm making it obvious that he was about to escalate. She didn’t protest – she came here for a reason. She noticed the pentagram on his gloves – gothy, she thought. She liked goth boys, especially big ones in touch with their kinky side.

Turning her face in profile, she ventured, “Would _you_ be willing to do it? It would be my way of paying you back for allowing me in here. Might it put me in good standing to become a member of my own?”

“Well, you need recommendations… and a sponsor. If you do well on the rig, you definitely could get the support of a few admirers.”

The audience reacted in unison and Isadora’s attention turned to the pair on stage; the dominatrix had amped up another, more powerful wand, this one using AC current, and held it in front of the guy's cock. Everyone knew that it was going to pack a wallop when it discharged. A bolt shot out, focused on a bead of pre-cum and he let out a short, sharp, pained scream.

“What is your safe word, worm?” she snarled as she ripped the blindfold from his face.

“Atlantic, mistress!” he said breathily through gritted teeth, saliva spraying from the corners of his mouth.

“But not yet, mistress! Please!”

She didn’t back down and was holding the wand there steadily. You could see the guy's chest rise and fall as it shocked him repeatedly. Isadora recognized by his expression that he was settling into the sensation, leaving one headspace for another. His mouth went slack and eyes softened as the woman continued her barrage of jolts to his shaft and head.

Isadora’s companion dragged down her panties slowly. 

“I didn’t get _your_ name…and you didn’t get _my_ permission,” she snapped and grabbed his large hand, stopping the lingerie from migrating any further. “I am thankful for this tour, but there are limits.”

“The name is Alucard,” he laughed heartily. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself but if you came here, that’s clearly not what you have in mind. If you are hoping to use even one of those condoms tucked in that bra, the knickers have to go. May we continue?”

She dropped her hand away, feeling the anxiety being locked away, the auto-pilot of her body dialing into place.

“…there’s my girl. How about you let me take you here in front of these fine people or…. we can sign you up for a slot.” 

“Or both?” she shot back. “How are you with breath play?” She turned over on her side to face him.

Now he was smiling broadly. His teeth were shark-like, most likely filed or had prosthetics. Her eyes widened as she noticeably stared into his maw.

“Don’t worry, I’d only bite _you_ if you _begged_ ,” he winked. “and I don’t do breath play, per se. It’s too hard to hear a safe word in that sort of situation. I’ve got some other ideas involving that pretty throat. All you have to do is say your safeword and we’ll try something else.”

Now they could get down to business. She looked him square in the eyes. “OK. Well then to start with, I don’t want any fear of pregnancy or STDs, so please take appropriate precautions there. No bites from _those_ teeth. My hard no’s are vomit, piss, scat, catheters, animals or minors. My soft no’s are anal penetration for large objects and lube is absolutely required. I think there is more covered in the app?… and one way or the other, when we are done, I have paid you back in full. We will have a drink afterward so we can discuss you being my sponsor, and you are buying.”

He nods, smirking at the bossy girl. She rolls back over onto her belly, feigning disinterest. Her emotional and sexual frustrations were further amplified due to the sights and the sounds. It was getting late; she was lust drunk and wanted release.

Her skin prickled as she could feel his cool shadow hover over her, even in the darkness. He quietly disrobed behind her – a pair of worn, black, riding boots dropped to the ground in her peripheral vision, along with a pile of neatly folded clothes on the second chair.

She waited with heavy anticipation, savoring the throbbing in her core, the hot emptiness aching to be filled. He gently pressed his thumbs into the flesh of the inside of her knees and guided her thighs apart with a steady sureness and kneeled behind her. She swallowed and closed her eyes; her heartbeat in her chest as she heard the furniture creak. Disconnected thoughts jangled alongside the primal need. She dared not move but felt him staring down at her body.

“I reckon the show is to your liking, you are positively wet,” he paused. “If I recall from the app your safe word is ‘peril’?”

“Good memory. Yes.”

“ ’Peril’. got it. What are you going to use for your emprise word?”

She cocked her head to the side, “Emprise? I’m not familiar with the word.”

“In this context, it means you call off the limits and preferences you set momentarily as a gamble. Safe words still apply, but I have an opportunity to advance the scene in a direction that was not previously on the table.” 

“Interesting, although I think you are getting ahead of yourself,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “We can just use the word itself, OK?”

“Fair enough,” he said and she heard the sound of a condom wrapper crinkling.

Without another word, he mounted her from behind. His massive cock slid in with sureness and bumped into her cervix causing her to make a small grunt. They both froze for a moment, savoring the perfection of their fit. Her toes twitched and she inhaled steadily, bracing herself with her forearms as he began to fuck her. His hands fell close to either side of her shoulders and she could feel his hair lap at her back and shoulders with each languid stroke. His body was cool, cold actually, and hard like glass, even his dick. It pulled away from the heat that was building steadily within her; something she hadn’t experienced before. Eyes closed tighter, she let the new and old sensations run wild over her and they found purchase in discordant limbs, pulling her up along familiar pathways. He made no sound. All she could hear was that poor guy still getting zapped over and over on stage; all she could feel was the coolness and the slow, steady drag into and out of her.

“How is it that you are so cold? Even your dick…” she trailed off and he slid back in, all the way to the hilt, forcing a grunt out of her.

Gripping her hips in his massive hands, he pulled back in a single smooth motion, propping her up onto her knees. She laid her head down on the chaise’s pillow and braced her left hand on his wrist. He shifted his weight, extending her hand in directly in front of her, then winging it out in an arc to her side, finally resting it in the small of her back. At this she smiled into the pillow; the penetration was amazing, but she wasn’t here for sweet, slow lovemaking. On his next stroke, he leaned forward and did the same with her right arm. His large hand easily held both of her wrists in place...then he just stopped all motion while buried deep inside her.

She perked her head up. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she hummed, “Um, Alucard? Is there something wrong?”

With a commanding voice she hadn’t heard from him until now he asked, “Why are you here?”

She held her breath in anticipation. She hoped they were finally getting somewhere.

“For release,” she averred.

With his free hand, he grabbed the hair on the back of her head into a ponytail. He readjusted his grip on it and on her wrists.

“For the appetizer, then. Count down backwards from 30…

“Slowly. And do NOT let my dick out of your hole, or we will have to reconsider that soft no.”

Her lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin. “Thirty…” Inside her captive mind, she was sure, she would come, literally and figuratively, to claim her liberty from the staticky mess and earn a weariness that would allow her to sleep once she put head to pillow tonight.

He resumed pumping, setting a pace of moderate, short strokes.

“Twenty-seven...”

As he fucked her, he steadily angled her bundled wrists upward, directly above her back, up through her natural range of motion and bounced them gently just past the limit. This forced her cheek and shoulders downward into the pillow and he released her hair, grabbing her hip instead. The force of the thrusts intensified.

“Twenty-four…”

Icy fingers tendrilled around the curve of her hip and sunk towards her clit. The pain in her shoulders rose steadily, amping up her adrenaline, curdling it like cream. A taut cable of sensation threaded from her sex to her aching shoulders, her heart and breath responding, flushing her skin with blood and promise as he kneaded her clit.

“Twenty-one…”

His cock now steadily pistoned into her in fluid strokes, from hilt to tip and back again. She felt the snaking wave of want inside rising further.

“Seventeen…” she whispered.

He clutched only her two thumbs, throttling the arms back and forth in time with his strokes. She was letting off pained whines in time with him. Her eyes shot open, unfocused, and darted, as if trying to see the approach of the impending orgasm. Her brain kept taking her out of her progress, coming back to how cold he still felt, even as he exerted himself.

“Fffff…fourteen,” her voice breaking into a sob.

“I can’t hear you. Keep counting… Louder. Or we start over,” he said sternly.

He was now slamming into her hips enough that she bounced with aftershocks, each time pulling at her shoulders a little more.

“Eleven…” she choked out.

He released her arms and they dropped, numb and aching to her sides, utterly useless.

“Up. Lift yourself up. Show them what you’re made of…but keep counting.”

Slowly she dragged her rubbery arms under her, tentatively pulling herself up. Breasts bouncing in time, she opened her eyes.

A small crowd was gathered around them now, eying her hungrily, camera phones pointed at her face.

“Eight…”

“OK. My friends will count you down from here. You are going to need that mouth for something else. Open wide.”

“Seven,” said the giddy crowd in unison.

Her eyes snapped into focus at a pair of tidy whiteys in front of her and a stunning, reddened, straining cock aimed for her mouth.

She opened her mouth and extended her tongue to help guide the shaft into her. Tidy Whiteys gasped, having never been allowed to climax on the X-frame.

“Six!”

She used the aftershocks of Alucard’s strokes to time her suckling. The man in front of her stroked her hair roughly with both of his hands, moaning, sobbing and thanking her over and over.

“Three…Two… One…”

That was the final push she needed. Overwrought she slammed her hips back into Alucard, her sex clamping down hard on the icy cock that impaled her. She backed off of the warm cock in front of her, drool spilling out of her mouth. She didn’t want to involuntarily bite him. Alucard gripped both of her hips, forcing her to keep the rhythm through her fugue.

“You’re not finished,” Alucard reminded her in an even tone.

She shuddered on while still being dragged along the rhythm with her hips and mouth. Her heartbeat throbbed harder but slowed and she could feel the tension in her head clearing. Shaking herself free of the fait accompli, she dedicated herself to the work before her.

Like a pendulum, she rocked herself into Alucard and greedily licked and mouthed the man before her. She glanced around as spectators commented nonchalantly and some comforted her with encouraging words and light touches.

It didn’t take long, after all he had been through, the man before her came next. She wasn’t prepared, having her focus split between the two men. Copious amounts of hot semen blasted the back of her throat, so much that she coughed and sputtered, most of the load falling from her lips, which she wiped away with the back of her forearm. The man’s legs gave out and he dropped onto his knees before her, heaving, with his head down on the pillow next to her hand.

Archie and another bouncer materialized and hoisted the man back to his feet, depositing the ragdoll on another chaise along with towels and water.

Alucard slowed his pace, back to the lazy, indulgent strokes he started with and leaned over her shoulders. He parted her hair which curtained around her panting face and tucked it over her shoulder. “Are you ready for the next course?” he smiled into her nape.

“…but you haven’t even come yet,” she sighed, still rocking her now indolent hips into his pelvis.

“That’ll be part of the main course. We haven’t even gotten around to squeaking a safe word out of you,” he said, kissing her on the shoulder playfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Rules about the Worlds Collide AU:  
> 1\. If a man wears tight pants, they do NOT wear boxers. Sure he may own a pair, they aren’t underneath anything form fitting though. I mean, come ON.  
> 2\. Stands exist (JoJo).  
> 3\. Hellsing vampire rules exist (older vampires are less affected by daylight & holy weapons, no reflections, regenerate faster, physically stronger/faster, can use a persuasive voice, has a mind connection with those with whom they have shared blood. etc.)  
> 4\. Dhampirs exist. Main difference – vampires need blood to survive, but can eat what humans consume for pleasure & dhampirs are the opposite. Dhampirs can be susceptible to some vampire weaknesses – similar to an allergy. It depends on how powerful/old the parent vampire is.  
> 5\. If a vampire takes your blood, it acts similar to aphrodisiac and makes you feel relaxed. If you drink vampire blood it still has the same aphrodisiac effects, but also acts as a stimulant.


End file.
